Binding Santos (4 page)

Grabbing a scrub coat, he pulled it on and greeted Cosmo, a gargoyle nurse training to be a doctor who often worked the night shift. "Sorry I'm late," he said. "I lost track of time."

"No problem," Cosmo replied. "It's been mostly quiet. Lebanon dislocated a shoulder in training, but it was a simple fix. In a day or two it'll only be a memory." The gargoyle disappeared in the back to change, and Tyron got busy running through inventory. When Cosmo reappeared, he paused at the door. "Oh, I almost forgot. Maximus stopped by looking for you."

That brought Tyron's head up, his brows lifting. "Did he say what he needed?"

Cosmo shook his head. "No, but I told him you'd be working in here later."

"Okay. Thanks. I'll buzz him."

Once the other gargoyle had left, Tyron crossed to a wall panel and held down the button for his Huzza's office. "Huzza, this is Tyron. Did you need me?"

"Ah, Tyron," he heard Max say through the intercom. "Yes. Give me fifteen minutes and I'll swing by the infirmary."

Maximus strode through the door twenty minutes later and dropped into the chair across from his desk. He grinned. "Been with Santos?"

"How did you..." Tyron rolled his eyes. "Damn it. You didn't, did you?"

Max smirked. He leaned across the desk and inhaled deeply. "It's faint, but the shower didn't get rid of it all." He pointed. "And it's probably because of the marks on your neck."

Well, shit.
He'd kinda forgotten about those. He ran a hand through his short blond curls. "Ah, yeah," he chuckled.

"I really came down here to ask you about your research last night. Did you find the information you needed?"

He blushed, remembering what happened while doing research at the coffee shop. Tyron nodded. "Yeah. I was only on-line for about fifteen minutes when Santos showed up. We really need to get access out here, by the way," he added ruefully.

Maximus grinned. "Someone's coming out on Thursday to install it. If you'd been patient, you wouldn't have even had to go into town." Then he lifted an amused brow. "But then, you probably would have missed out on the vertical fun."

Tyron shook his head, fighting back a blush. "I did find out about The Dispersal from Santos. I don't know why it's called that. It should be called
The Slaughte
r."

"What did you find out?" Max asked, leaning forward and leaning his elbows on the desk.

He quickly relayed what he'd learned about the McDarmund tribe. "Santos told me he could introduce me to a psychic who has visions about the owners of items she touches. If we can get an artifact, she can point us in the right direction."

"Uh... most of them were killed over two hundred years ago. What are we going to do? Take her to a museum and hope she touches something relevant?"

"Well," Tyron said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Santos said he'd find one for me."

"Really?" He could hear the surprise in Max's voice. "For what price?"

"Uh..." He wasn't sure he wanted to share that information.

"What?" Max asked warily.

"It was a personal favor," he murmured, looking up at his Huzza through his lashes.

Max cocked his head and blinked. "I'm sorry. Come again?"

Taking a deep breath, he said, "He's not doing it for the clan. He's doing it for me. Or more specifically, my ass."

The Huzza's eyes narrowed. "I know you're gay, but even so, you'd better explain that, Tyron."

"We set up a second date to fuck when he brought the artifact."

He couldn't stop the blush at the words, especially when Max growled and rose to his feet. "Why didn't you ask me first? Didn't you think I'd be open to the idea? You didn't need to trade your body, Tyron!" he snarled.

Glaring, Tyron slammed his fist onto his desk. "It had nothing to do with that," he snapped, frustration roiling through him. Shoving to his feet, he began to pace.

"Then tell me," Max urged. "You've been distracted for weeks. What's going on?"

"He's my mate," Tyron bellowed. "I realized it at the BBQ." He knew he shouldn't be yelling at his Huzza, but couldn't seem to stop himself. All the anger, frustration, and self-doubt from the last few weeks just seemed to bubble up and flood his system. "He kissed me, and all I've been able to think about is him. He came into the coffee shop. We went back to his place. Evidently demons don't recognize their mates like we do, because he wouldn't acknowledge the bond between us." He felt tears threaten at the back of his eyelids, but he blinked them back. Now wasn't the time.

Max rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "And you're sure he's the one?" he asked softly.

Tyron nodded. "Yeah. I couldn't stop myself from claiming him, but h-he didn't reciprocate," he whispered.

"Damn," Max whispered. "I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?"

He shook his head, taking several slow breathes to pull himself back together. "I'm hoping that during the time apart, while he's searching for the artifact, he'll come to accept it. If not..." He shrugged. "I've been celibate for years."

"But the rest of your life?" Max frowned. "It won't come to that. We'll think of something."

Tyron gave the Huzza a weak smile. "I'd like to bury myself in paperwork right now... get my mind off it, ya know?"

Max nodded. "Sure. Let me know if you need anything."

Tyron watched Max leave, knowing for once, his Huzza couldn't help him with what he needed.

∗ ∗ ∗

Santos's eyes snapped open. His breath came in ragged gasps, as he fought back the frustration and rage filling him. Damn, that must have been some dream to fill him with such anguish. He thought of Tyron and reached his arm out, looking for the gargoyle's warm body next to him. Santos wanted to pull him close and take comfort. A desire he'd never experienced before, but at the moment he couldn't find anything wrong with the idea.

He came up empty.

Frowning, Santos turned his head and saw the empty mattress next to him. He listened to the silence of his suite, knowing even as he strained for some tell-tale sign of Tyron in another room that the gargoyle was gone. He growled, a fresh wave of anger filling him. How dare he leave without waking Santos. Who did Tyron think he was to treat him as some casual fuck? It didn't matter that he'd done it to hundreds of others over the course of his two hundred seventy-seven years. This was different.

The desire to go to Rostrorod and track the gargoyle down filled him, and he flung off the blankets. He had his jeans on and was grabbing a shirt when the note on the other pillow registered. Dropping the shirt on the bed, he grabbed the scrap of paper.

Santos - I'm sorry to run out on you this morning. I'm late for my shift at the infirmary. I'm a doctor, did I tell you that? Anyway, your assistance with finding a McDarmund tribe artifact would be greatly appreciated. And you're my mate, so you don't have to do this to get my ass. It's yours anytime. ~ Tyron.

"Fuck!" he yelled. He crumpled the note in his fist, rested his elbows on his knees, and his head in his hands. That's exactly how he'd been about to treat Tyron. Like a wayward mate. After over two hundred years had he finally met his bindling? If so, did he want to be bound to one person?

He'd never thought so before, but just thinking back on the activities of yesterday and last night had his dick hardening to the point of pain. Santos could think of several new positions he wanted to try with the gargoyle if Tyron had been in his bed when he woke this morning. And not only did he enjoy Tyron's sexy body, he'd enjoyed conversing with him over dinner as well. He'd found himself explaining things about demons he'd never discussed before, including his work for the Demon Coalition. Santos still didn't know why he'd shared that he worked as a tracker for them, but he didn't regret the decision.

Rising from the bed, he slowly pulled the jeans back off and climbed into the shower. He turned the water up as high as he could tolerate, and being a demon, that was saying something. Steam filled the room in a matter of moments. The heat soothed his nerves, allowing him to sort through his jumbled thoughts and emotions.

He didn't know what to do about Tyron, but he could come to one conclusion. The gargoyle had become an obsession. Thinking about the sexy creature had his flagging erection hardening back up. Santos wrapped his hand around his throbbing cock, stroking from root to tip. He imagined Tyron on his knees in front of him, his mouth open, eager to take him in. Damn, the gargoyle gave the best blow jobs. He imagined the heat from the water was Tyron's hot mouth, the pressure from his hand the suction of the gargoyle's lips, the pad of his thumb over his slit the caress of Tyron's tongue. Seconds later, he came screaming Tyron's name.

He leaned his head against the shower wall, his body shuddering as he came down from the high of his orgasm. One thing was certain. He needed Tyron again, and this time, he wasn't certain he could let the little gargoyle go. So, why did that idea put a smile on his face?

It took over a week for Santos to track down the information he needed. Armed with the knowledge of where he could find a McDarmund artifact, Santos used a lei line to appear near the gargoyle's clan home. He was a two minute's walk from the massive structure when his phone rang. He flipped it open and held the device to his ear. "Santos here."

"Santos, this is Maximus of Cuchulian."

"Max!" Santos grinned. "I have something for you. I'm..."

Surprise shot through him when the gargoyle Huzza cut him off. "I'm actually looking for Tyron. Is he with you?"

He paused, staring up at Rostrorod as his brain processed those words. "No. Why?"

"He didn't show up for work this morning. I was hoping he'd spent the night with you again," Max said with a sigh.

"Open your door," Santos growled, making his request come out a demand.

"What?" Max snapped back.

Forcing his voice into a more neutral tone, he replied, "I'm already here. I was bringing information to you. Please, open the door."

"I'll send someone right away."

Flipping his phone closed, Santos crossed his arms and waited impatiently. Seconds later, the door in front of him swung open and Santos spotted Graden. "Come with me. Max is waiting," the large black gargoyle grunted, ushering him inside the massive building.

Santos followed, his tingling skin telling him his control over his human form was beginning to slip. Too much worry and rage filled him. He wanted to slam Graden into the wall and demand he tell him what they knew about Tyron, but he figured that wouldn't be the best way to gain the gargoyle's cooperation. Instead, he followed in silence.

Graden opened a door and when Santos walked in, he recognized it as Max's office. The gargoyle Huzza turned from the massive, floor to ceiling, wall to wall fish tank he stared at. He couldn't help the surprise flooding him at finding something that mundane in the gargoyle's office.

Max must have seen the look, because he smirked. "Watching them helps me relax." Santos just nodded, and Max indicated a seat. "When was the last time you saw Tyron?"

Santos appreciated the Huzza cutting to the chase. "A week and a half ago. We met at a coffee shop and spent the evening together."

Max nodded and handed him a piece of paper. "This appeared on my desk while Graden was going to get you. I don't appreciate things just popping into my home. Why don't you tell me what the hell is going on?" he said, his hard tone revealing his frustration.

Confused, Santos took the offered paper.

~ Huzza Maximus of Cuchulian - We regret to inform you of an uncleared binding between the gargoyle Tyron of Cuchulian and the demon Santos Ry Conica. To facilitate the safety of the gargoyle while breaking this bond, we are keeping said gargoyle in Overworld. He will be returned once the break is complete. ~Braken El Dramen, Demon Coalition

Santos read the words again, his blood boiling in his veins. Rising to his feet, he roared, the cry shaking the glass fish tank. He released his human form and shifted, his skin thickening and darkening to a deep red, his eyes glowing like hot coals, and his horns and claws extending. "They took him, the bastards," he growled. Flexing his back muscles, his wings unfurled. They sliced through his shirt and snapped to their full twelve foot wingspan, nearly filling the room.

"Who?" Maximus asked, now standing as well, Graden at his shoulder. "And furl the wings before they destroy something."

"The Demon Coalition," Santos snapped before Max's second comment registered. "Wings? I... have wings. Fuck! I
am
mated!" He looked left and right, staring at the massive red membranous wings on either side of him. Slowly, his muscles uncoordinated from never being used, he wrapped the large wings around his shoulders and body, locking the talons halfway across the tops of the wing-bones under his chin, making it look as though he wore a cloak. "These will take some getting used to," he whispered, disbelief filling him.

"What are you talking about? Used to what?" Max asked.

"Demons don't normally have wings. I've heard rumors that when a powerful demon mates, they gain wings. Until now, I haven't heard of it happening in over a century," Santos replied, racking his brain for some other example. He couldn't think of any. No wonder the coalition tracked who mated who. "Wings increase the demon's power," he murmured absently.